


Duality

by flynnesse



Category: Hermitcraft RPF, Minecraft (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Blood and Gore, Blood and Injury, Blood and Torture, Blood and Violence, Description Heavy, Gen, Graphic Description, Heavy Angst, Implied/Referenced Character Death, No happy endings, Permadeath AU, Possession, Probably ooc, Swords, Torture, Virus, biff straight up murdered damn, im just fuelling the lack of biffa content, poor biff doesnt get a break from me, x doesnt get a break either
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-14
Updated: 2020-11-14
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:27:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,473
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27557599
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flynnesse/pseuds/flynnesse
Summary: Biffa hasn't been himself lately and that man is on a mission.Based off Hermitcraft Season 3 and is a take on the Headgames he had. This may be OOC because I didn't watch much season 3 before writing this.Written on June 15th 2020
Kudos: 13





	Duality

A low mist cascaded from the mountains, with it came a light smattering of rain. The dark shadows grew as their progress was wet with a sheen of melancholy. Rain was a thing that came and went in these lands, spoken of as a time when everything reaches a standstill as the inhabitants recede into their homes with the intent to refine their crafts as they sat and waited for the storm to pass. It was late afternoon, the sun’s usual shine didn’t touch the confines of the hellish peaks within their world, it had already peeked over the jagged edges and slipped away. Its glow was snuffed out like a candle in the wind, by the advancing fog.

While most of the residents were inside, there were few who were insane or stubborn enough to stand out in the downpour as it drizzled but faded when the skies opened up and threw down a shower. One of which walked with an air of confidence and familiarity, footfalls clacked on the ground. He was indifferent to the damp numbing cold biting at his flesh, the lustred surface of his armour. His eyes were masked by a thick visor, the only thing visible was his mouth that was pulled into a tight frown.

The wind caused the windows to rattle, threatening to rip the panes out of their place on the buildings that had them present. Green blades whipped around in his wake, producing a feverish wave as they rippled. Trees were stripped of a multitude of their leaves and thrown into the desolate gale, scattered across the land to not be seen again.

Yet he still walked with an impetuous pace, his purpose was unknown. Gaze unforgiving, unrecognisable, hostile. A pugnacious glint in his eyes under his visor. Blue eyes cold and empty, apathetic, their look like ice as he scanned through the fog without little care. In his hands, he gripped two weapons, sharp long blades where the edges had a thin strip that emitted a soft glow. The metal was normally stated to be a bright blue, but now it looked like a sickening red. You almost couldn’t hear the dripping of fresh blood from the tips as he traversed, covered by the veil of the weather. The crimson left a haunted trail behind him, armour splattered from head to toe. Once colourful builds marked with only one stand-alone colour, the blood of his people. Evidence flushed away like a receding tide.

He eventually arrived at his destination, any sign of his heinous crimes were removed, all except the scribed smear of blood along the peripheral of his swords. The place wasn’t his own, non of the spots he had visited had been. But this was his final target, the last one standing.

After enough of listening to his steps echoing around him, he finally found the sole survivor. He had kept him alive to watch his final moments as he struggled to keep the world he built from tumbling down, however, he was the last piece to eradicate till it crashed into dust. It was a dangerous game leaving him alive till last as he had the ability to shut this whole show down with just a finger. Some distant part of the killer remembered him to have been a friend, all of them had, and now their innards were chalked on his skin and memory. That part of him was screaming, begging him to stop, but he had raised from the ashes of a failure, of a waste and of a worthless being and made him great, a perfect weapon.

The Admin stood in the middle of his room, a crude mockup of a detective’s corkboard strewn across his wall in front of him. Pale green screens in front highlighting the surroundings, scrolling through code that only he could read.

His back tensed, spinning around as he unsheathed his sword, raising it defensively. Fear radiated from his wide eyes under that purple visor, fingers shaking as he readied his own blue blade, clean. The Machine knew in full-well that the Admin would try to save the man he locked inside, he would try to stop him and save him. It was poetic, really. His best friend would be his murderer. His demise. His weakness. He was shouting, trying to get in, whilst the man tried to fight through, but he wasn’t enough. He would never submit to that.

The Machine aimed his blades, the two met. His opponent blocked his strike with his own, a loud clatter. He only had one sword, whilst he had two. Pressing his weight on one blade it slid to the hilt, and he locked it under the crossguard, with a flick of his wrist it clattered out of his hands as there was a grunt. He thought the Voidwalker was a better fighter than this, he had been through hell and back, fighting demons - yet now he was easily submitting to him. It was likely he was afraid to harm the shell of his friend, and that would be his downfall. The Admin grimaced under his helmet before his eyes widened, an elbow flying at his face and knocking him to the ground. He wanted to watch him squirm as he met his fate, watching his blood pour out of his chest as he choked.

The brunette landed with a thud beside his weapon, scrambling out to grab it but he was met with a cry as a boot landed on his wrist. The blond skittered the blade away with a well-aimed kick and it disappeared under a desk. Blue eyes meeting blue, he could see them under his cracked visor, glass sticking in the bridge of his nose and his temple. He levelled his sword to his neck, watching the admin grab the blade without a care of the blood-smeared weapon tearing through his gloves and through his skin. Feebly trying to hold it to stop it from pressing into his neck. Back flattening into the floorboards as his breathing picked up to erratic. The Machine leaned down, grinning haphazardly as he knelt, pushing pressure on his wrist, listening to him cry out.

He taunted him with his inability to save the world he made, to save the people he found, and how it was all ripped to tatters from the inside out. With an unrecognisable laugh, he yanked his helmet off, throwing it aside. Claiming he wanted to see his expression clearly whilst he was unseamed. The fear in his wide-blown eyes was pleasurable to see, the paleness in his skin, sweat matting his hair to his face. His breathing was laboured and strained, watching him struggle in his hold, blood drooling down and the echoing of plops on the ground. The only noises were their breathing, his own laughs, the Admin’s pleas and his screams. He dug deeper watching him contort in pain as he struggled to push the blade from his neck, however, every stab caused it to drag closer and closer - till blood beaded on his neck.

Eventually, he moved on, stabbing the blade through the meek leather across his abdomen. If he didn’t scream or squirm before he definitely did then. Crimson ichor pooling from the slash as he pulled the sword from it, he glanced up at the Admin’s face. Eyes screwed up, as his nose wrinkled in disgust from the coppery scent suffocating them both. Breathing shallow.

The fight had left him and he weakly pleaded with him, voice faint as he could barely suck in a breath.

The machine smiled wickedly, letting the Man in as he pushed a final stab through his stomach, ripping guts out. He heard the Admin scream before his lifeblood leaked out of him, growing silent as he bled out.

There was silence, crimson smeared on his hands as the katanas clattered on the floor. He stared at them, breathing frantically as he finally looked up. He scrambled away, pushing his visor up as he stained it red. “Nonoonon XISUMA- NO!” He yelped, shakily dropping to his knees as he stared at his broken body. He had done this, he had caused this.

Thick hot tears ran down his face as he screamed, but there was no one to save him, they had all been ripped away. He didn’t trust himself near his fallen leader. Yet he still inched closer, gathering him in his arms as he wept. He didn’t care about his state as his already red armour glimmered in the blood of his friend. Sobbing as his own tears dripped and ran down the brunette’s face as he pushed his hair out of his face, staining him with his own life.

**_Well done. Maybe you weren’t that useless as I thought you were. You have potential Biffa._ **

**Author's Note:**

> I developed this concept while dealing with toxic people in my life and wrote this on the side as a vent at the same time, I based it off the idea that during Season 3 Biffa's code got infected and caused him to go on a killing spree if it's more canon then Xisuma would have discovered the cause of the code and fixed it but I took the take of him not doing that.  
> Its up to you to believe if X and the other hermits respawned or not.
> 
> Concernedly writing this was more amusing and more relieving than it should be. But some of the lines have been removed because they were too graphic. it seemed to me to be way more words than it says, funny. but have a nice day.


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